


Grey Days

by exposeyou



Series: I Used To Know You When [3]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exposeyou/pseuds/exposeyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jude isn't very good at apologising, so he tries something he is more talented at...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Days

Jude is rarely his own favourite person, and although it's even rarer that he admits his own shortcomings, this doesn't mean he isn't painfully aware of them, so the next night, left alone in the flat with his thoughts whilst Ewan is out with some Scottish mates, he accepts that he has been a bit of a dick. Okay, so he didn't actually hit Jonny, but he very much wanted to, and this was clear to both of them. Jonny, who has been nothing but nice to him since his inclusion into Ewan and Jude's cosy little friendship, even though he could probably see Jude's possessiveness and desire well before he was aware of it himself. Therefore, Jude – brought up by a mother with a charming fixation on dusting and being seen to do the right thing – ought to make amends. He walks over the fridge that had been at the epicentre of the previous day's drama, and after finding a half-chewed Edinburgh Festival biro and a Tesco's receipt, leaves a scrawled note affixed to it. "Gone to see M" – because to tell his real destination to Ewan would be to admit wrongdoing – "back later".

The walk to Jonny's is crisp, and feels more autumnal than the time of year had any right to. Still, their little corner of London, in the atmospheric and blurry evening, looks quite beautiful. The half-hearted weather is certainly making a good attempt for pathetic fallacy – Jude's good intentions seem to evaporate when he actually reaches Jonny's building. He feels now, as if he is only doing this out of duty, to make himself feel better. There is something else in the back of his mind, like the ominous edge to the shifting clouds outside that keep threatening to become a storm, but as yet, haven't committed themselves.

He reminds himself that he is there to apologise. He is going to say sorry for being a dick, Jude tells himself, and this coiling in his stomach is his petty stubbornness. This explanation is rendered somewhat void ten minutes later when awkward sorrys and a conciliatory handshake turn into something else. Jonny offers his hand, a gentleman, and Jude – Jude doesn't feel anything as clichéd as a spark, but he touches Jonny's palm and thinks I don't need Ewan. I could have this. He pulls him in, and they're kissing, fumbling, hands on hips and in hair before the thought is fully-formed in his mind. He registers the ridiculousness of the situation, that this isn't what he meant to do, that he's never even thought of Jonny sexually before, then its chased away as Jonny works his hand inside his jeans. A few minutes later and he has his lips around Jude's cock, reducing him to a bucking, moaning mess. This is possibly the most undignified blowjob of his life, pushed down on a shabby sofa, hard against his will, whilst a man he nearly punched thirty-six hours ago sucks him off.

However, this doesn't stop it from being very, very good. Jude has had a lot of sex in his time, but this is something else. Maybe Jonny is gifted, or maybe it's just his natural advantage as a man, but Jude is squirming and moaning under him as if he can't control himself. Having accepted this surreal turn of events, he's going to let himself enjoy them (it would almost be rude not to). With his eyes closed, and that stubble occasionally catching his thighs, it's not hard to imagine that the skilful mouth belongs to Ewan. Every time his eyelids flutter though, that shock of neon hair ruins the illusion.

Somehow – Jude is a little hazy on exactly how, because he doesn't feel as if he can form words let alone coherent sentences, he manages to communicate to Jonny his desire to move to the bedroom. He stands in the doorway as Jonny strips his shirt off, realising that he has never seen this room before. There are dirty jeans on the floor, half-read novels on the bedside table, a packet of tablets, and, bizarrely, a Swiss Army knife. It feels a bit too intimate to be in here, close, wrong. Then he looks at a half-naked, expectant Jonny, and realises how ridiculous that thought is, when they're about to have sex. Nothing more intimate than that. Oh God, he's going to have sex with a man. His stomach drops through the floor. He thinks about leaving. He thinks about going to home to Ewan, and being asked where he has been.

He looks at Jonny, now pushing his jeans down his thighs. He stays.

And its simpler, once they're both on the bed, all mouths and hands. Sex is what Jude knows, it's what he's good at, and reducing all this drama down to movement and friction soothes him, gives him some control back. When he touches Jonny's erection, he's giddily thrilled to think that it's his doing. But still, there's panic in his stomach, and if they don't keep touching each other, if they stop for one moment, it'll come screaming out.

And Jonny seems to know what's going through his head, he's leading the way, not expecting too much, silently and subtly checking that he's not about to run for the door. The combination of fear and first-time nerves should be terrible, but somehow they're making it work – something that is much more down to Jonny than Jude, to be fair.

Once the first flush of bravado dies down, Jude's really wishing he had time to do a line. This is one situation where it would be good to feel a little less like himself. He's pretty sure he might have some coke in his jacket – Jude prides himself on his carefree attitude towards his drugs; too careful an attentiveness towards his state of possession would be the mark of an addict, he tells himself, so being blasé about it shows how little he needs it, and how in control he is. On the other hand, here he is, in a situation that has rapidly got out of control in a way that he isn't even sure he wants. A little chemical intervention would let him float above himself a bit, get him out of his head, let him enjoy the sensations and essentially just bring this back to sex, not whatever fucked-up soap opera revenge grudge fuck it has mutated into.

But. His jacket is on the other side of the bed. It's a tiny room, but the three steps and two seconds it will take to get there will be more than enough time for Jude to come to his sense, grab his clothes, and rush out of there. And he's not entirely sure he wants to do that. Stubborn pride, for one thing. Jude Law doesn't start something like this, then not finish it. So he'll stay.

But deciding this, his second conviction to see this through in five minutes, still hasn't stopped his hands from shaking, and he can't decide whether Jonny is oblivious to how awkward he is, or is putting on a good show of ignoring it. He's treating him the way you would a cornered animal, low, soothing sounds, gentle touches, and its thoughtful but actually fucking unbearable. Jude has his eyes closed so he can imagine that he's somewhere else, with someone else, but when every time Jonny opens his mouth he is shattering this precious illusion. Jude doesn't want to leave, but can't stay here if it's with Jonny. They came to the bedroom so he could hide from him, after all.

So, again, to his own surprise, he manages to speak. Its only two words, but he's so conscious now of how fragile he feels that he overcompensates, so that when he says "fuck me" it comes out like a growl, too low and aggressive for what he's asking for. The sound surprises him, he looks taken aback, as if he didn't know what he was going to say, and so does Jonny, for a second, before he shifts gear, almost seamlessly, turning him over, face down on white sheets, kissing his way down his spine, his mouth shifting and tongue sliding and oh God, yes and Jude is an incoherent, rippling mess well before Jonny is inside of him and he's shaking, gasping, mouthing into the pillow Ewan Ewan Ewan Ewan.  
___

"You selfish bastard".

Certainly not what Jude had expected or hoped to hear as he slunk back to the flat through late night drizzle, but here he is, slightly damp and uncomfortably warm, looking at a glowering Ewan, face demonic in the flickering light of three AM's finest televisual offerings. In a moment of dumb confusion Jude half-registers that it's something by the Open University about canals, then Ewan speaks again.

"Why do you always have to lie? Why can't you just keep it in your pants?"

Jude's mind has one of those horrible moments of clarity, through the fog. He knows, he knows, how the fuck does he know? Did Jonny call him and tell him everything whilst he made his way home? If Jude had taken the tube and got here quicker could he have saved himself? What the hell should he say?

Ewan seems to fit this misplaced panic into his own version of events. "You practically have 'guilt' written all over your face, mate. Your girlfriend, remember, the one you said you were going to see? She rang and asked where you were. I told her you were at Jonny's. I can understand why you'd lie to Melissa about whatever you've been doing, but why did you have to lie to me?" It might be dark, but Jude doesn't need to see him clearly to know that he's hurt. "Anyway, I'm not covering up for you anymore. Sort it out, Jude."

Jude can barely hide his relief. Ewan just thought he was off fucking some girl. Admittedly, he has just cheated on poor, sweet, kind Melissa, again, and it is less than ideal that Ewan is angry with him, but compared to how bad this situation could be...The appropriateness of the cover story he gave to Melissa is almost funny, to Jude's admittedly off-centre state of mind, and he manages to half-stifle a laugh. This just earns him another glare.

Ewan brushes past him on his way to bed, and he feels solid and real in his anger whilst Jude is just so much shifting, insubstantial liquid. What's the word, mercurial?

He'll deal with it all in the morning.


End file.
